


Growing Pangs

by Sp00py



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Cannibalism, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Force-Feeding, Incest, Isolation, Licking, Mono's technically here too he just is functioning as a plot inconvenience, No Sex, RK and Six are twins, Sibling Incest, Six loves her brother v much, Starvation, Suggestive Themes, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29747508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: Bodies change as children grow. Some adjust well. Others do not.RK is having a hard time hitting those milestones Six sailed right past. Luckily, she's willing to help him out, as any good sister should.
Relationships: The Runaway Kid/Six (Little Nightmares)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Growing Pangs

**Author's Note:**

> i already added necrophilia to the LN tag, i felt it was overdue for some incest, too.

RK knelt on the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach, fingers clenched in his ragged shirt. He wanted to rip his stomach out. Traitor.

He was always hungry.

It ate at him, and ate, and ate, and still he was never full. The jagged scratches dragged over and over along his belly stung. The pain was good. The pain distracted him, especially in these harder moments, where he just wanted to _eat_.

The clocks chimed. Twelve bongs, all discordant and slightly out of sync with each other. Right. Okay. He had work to do.

RK used the chair to support him as he got to unsteady feet, and he dragged himself, step by agonizing step, to the transceiver radio. He couldn’t even recall when he’s fallen out of the chair, or which of his bruises and scrapes were from that instead of him throwing himself into walls, into cabinets, desperately seeking to quiet the hunger raging inside, or at least find some escape in unconsciousness.

The chain, dragging at his ankle, scraped and rang out. The skin underneath his manacle was no longer sensitive, rubbed raw one too many times as he grew, until only a thick callus remained under the tight bite of metal.

He dropped bonelessly into the chair, bleary eyes staring at glowing displays and dials and toggles. He wondered if there were any girls running around with only half their jaws so the Maw could have numbers that glowed. It didn’t seem worth it, but the lives of children meant little to adults. Less than a pretty display. He checked their coordinates, then fumbled with the log book, until it was open on the correct page. He began to trace a fingertip, thin and brittle, down the lists of numbers, each with notes. Some were in the eloquent, efficient script of adults, others were a childish scrawl of misspellings and doodles. His handwriting hadn’t improved much since he’d begun, years ago.

He picked a station and tapped a ragged nail there while he adjusted the dials, the airwaves oscillating with strange hums. He depressed the transmittor’s button, licked his cracked and bloody lips, and began to speak.

“If you can hear this and are playing hide and seek today, home base is -50.69, 56.39.”

He repeated the words, then a third time, then adjusted the dials. Again. Next station. Next station. Next. Next, until RK had exhausted the list of nearby stations to receive his signal. Then he went back to the beginning.

RK did this until exhaustion took him, which was far too soon for his liking. If he could, he’d keep rambling numbers forever, for any child likely to hear, for any chance to save even one more.

He rested his head on the cool metal of the table, throat sore, hunger pangs threatening to return.

A vent at the back of the room creaked open, and he heard the gentle thud as a bucket was lowered. The cover closed again. RK lurched after the frantic patter of Nome feet without thought, falling from the chair, hands clawing to hunt and catch and _eat._ His head bouncing off the floor offered some much needed pain and focus.

The bucket. Right. RK crawled much more carefully forward, chain an eternal background noise as it came along with him. He had shortened it so he couldn’t reach the vent, or the door, but had a stick with a hook at the end.

He used it to catch the handle of the bucket and drag it closer. This was the closest he had to company, for more days than he could count, Nomes and children sending down the bucket and running before he could even see them.

A few letters. Some raw potatoes and garlic. A can of something that might be fruit, but the label was so worn it made it difficult to tell. He’d eat it, regardless. So long as it wasn’t meat. Never meat. He refused to even tease at the temptation to escalate. A jar full of brownish water.

RK tucked the bucket under his arm and moved gingerly to his nest. He pulled the cord of his lamp, illuminating the dark corner surrounded by fallen cabinets with a weak, golden glow. Carefully he set his food out on one of the cabinet’s sides, then spread out the letters to read. Two. Two more children saved.

> deer arkay,
> 
> hello. i am button. i like buttons. thank you for letting me on your bote. it is nice here.
> 
> love,
> 
> button

  
  


> hi arkay my name is thomas. i lived in the pale city. it rained all the time. there was a tower that sent tv signals everywhere. a man lived in the tower and took kids. there aren’t many kids left. i saw a boy with a bag and a girl in a raincoat once. that was all. i left before the thin man took me to. i like the sun.

RK stared at the second letter, finally finding something that quelled his appetite. Six. He didn’t know this was her. It could be any girl in a raincoat. Raincoats made sense in a place that always rained.

He knew she was alive, still, in some sick way that he hoped was just his imagination. Like he’d know if something happened to her, even with an ocean between them. But this didn’t have to be her. RK could just be paranoid, and Six died somewhere long ago, only alive in his mind to haunt him. That made the most sense. The world was cruel. And even if you’re just as awful, when you’re still a child, you could die.

She was dead, he told himself firmly. And even if she wasn’t (she _was_. She had to be), there was no reason for her to return to the Maw.

RK pushed Six firmly out of his mind, never mind the shaking in his hands that had nothing to do with his hunger (so like hers, but she would feed. She would do anything to survive, and then worse just for fun). He pulled out some of the papers in the cabinet and flipped them over to write on their backs.

Think. Write something nice back. It didn’t have to be a lot. His stomach growled.

Six was out there. She was a hunter, driven by her own hunger, tempered by nothing. RK’s thoughts filled with biting teeth and spurting blood as even the scariest of adults fell before her. As those shadows swooped in around her, and he cowered behind the softly rippling dresses of mannequins. He hadn’t wanted to see that. He just wanted to escape.

He’d held his breath as she stalked over, her shadows (too many shadows) dancing on the fabric. It hadn’t been enough. Six had pushed back the dresses, leaned in close, blood all down her front and staining her teeth when she grinned down at him.

RK had been sure she was going to kill him then. After a lifetime together, it was bound to happen. He couldn’t squish himself any further into the wood at his back.

Six’s hand had risen. He flinched.

She flicked his forehead, leaving a small imprint of blood. “Bye, loser.”

And with that, she left.

He’d waited and waited for her to return, but she hadn't. Six liked games, but she wasn't patient. With legs cramping and throat dry, RK had crept to the Lady in her congealing pool of blood and fumbled for the master key tucked into her obi.

He’d been able to shake off the bodies Six had left in her wake, the terror that raked constantly down his spine at the slightest flash of yellow, to free the children. He’d been happy, then. Content.

Until the first pangs set in. Small but strong, like a little dragon curled up inside.

This came as a disappointment, but not a surprise. He’d known it could happen. It had grown in Six, why would it not also plant its horrific seeds in her brother and simply wait to bloom?

So, he did what he had to to keep children safe. He locked himself away. He barricaded the door. He chained himself again. He’d seen what hunger had done to Six (or what it had simply made worse). RK wouldn’t let himself succumb. He'd rather starve to death, first. But he hadn't died. He just lingered, like a ghost.

He pushed the papers away and turned off the light. He’d be getting no writing done for now.

RK curled up under a blanket, yanking it over his head as though to block out the world. A world where Six was alive and well and strong. And so very, very dangerous.

He woke up to someone radioing in. From the sounds of things, they’d been trying to contact him for a while. Sometimes, though, it was so hard to escape the comfortable numbness of sleep.

“New kids -- settling them in --”

He fumbled over to the radio, seeing that the light for one of the on-board radios was lit, and dropped to his knees in front of the transmitter.

“Please repe--,” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, please repeat?”

“We got some new kids today,” Irma said. RK could identify people by their voices so much easier than the faces, now. He barely even remembered what she looked like. “Getting them settled in now. Good job, RK.”

“Thanks.”

The radio went silent.

RK sat on the floor, hoping just a little that Irma would come back on the line. Or anyone else. He used to talk with the other Maw children all the time, after barricading himself in here, but as time passed, things changed, and they moved on while RK stayed exactly the same. He never met the new kids, or saw the old ones off. He didn’t even know how long had passed, not really, only that he grew hungrier, his brain foggier.

He returned to the bucket and pulled out the jar of water. Sometimes it helped just to have something inside of him, even if it wasn't (and would never be) what his body needed and craved.

RK rested a minute longer, then returned to the letters, feeling a little more ready to reply. Especially if he’d be getting more, so soon. Ace liked to make sure the new kids knew about him, even if they could never meet. He was very kind that way. RK didn't know what he looked like nowadays, either. He missed all his friends from before, when he was just another child in the Maw.

He tucked his answering letters into the bucket, then shoved it back underneath the vent for a Nome to hook and drag up when next they came to check on him. One small thing done. RK felt more accomplished.

That was when he heard a shriek as the door was flung open and bounced against the barricade. He launched up straight, eyes wide, hands fumbling to untangle him from his nest and tell whoever was coming in to run. Sometimes new kids didn’t know. They didn’t listen to the danger -- he’d never actually hurt one, yet, but the mere thought sickened him to his core. The fact that he’d want to at all, despite everything inside of him revolting at the mere notion. He took no chances.

Whoever it was was strong, pushing at the door and moving the fallen cabinet blocking it with only some grunting. Stronger than he was, anymore. An arm slipped through to shove at the cabinet itself. Yellow. RK froze like a cornered animal, all words of warning dying in his throat.

The metal screamed even more, and he cringed away, hands flying to his ears. More fit in, a shoulder, a side. A yellow raincoat, hiding a nightmare RK had thought he was done with. He remembered what _she_ looked like far too well.

He bolted, catching himself on his own chain. There wasn’t any place to go, anyway. One way in. No way out. RK crawled under the table, like he was hiding from the blind groping of the Janitor. Just stay quiet. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. Six's feet slapped lightly on the floor as she entered and examined the room. RK closed his eyes like that would make her go away. _If I can’t see you, you can’t see me_ \--

“Hey, Seven.” A familiar rasp. The same one that haunted his dreams, that coaxed him to eat whenever his stomach growled.

RK buried his face even harder into his own knees. “Don’t call me that.”

She tugged at his chain. “What? Your name?”

RK risked glaring at her. She knew that wasn’t his name, anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.

“You look like shit. Did those mean kids lock you up?” She said with a chuckle. She talked more than when they were younger. Looked taller, too. Healthier. She’d been eating. He wondered what _she_ tasted like, and immediately tore his gaze away. Even his own sister wasn't safe from his urges. “Bet they didn’t feed you, either. Don't worry, though. I brought you something.”

RK coughed and curled up, trying to smother the sounds of his stomach roiling. Swallowing down the saliva flooding his mouth. His look said more than any words as her eyebrows rose in realization.

"Did you..." Six stepped away with a shake of her head, then RK found himself dragged out from under the table by his manacle. He gave a pained yelp, struggling to get off his back. Vulnerable. Exposed. He made it to his knees before the hunger hit again, and he crumpled.

Six was blessedly silent as he groaned, miserable. Why did she come back? It was like she’d heard his thoughts and materialized just to spite him. Just to ruin what good he’d done in the world. The kids. They weren't safe.

“Six,” he gasped, shoving himself to his hands and knees. “Please -- just leave -- I --”

"Shut up, Seven." She wrenched his chin up and shoved her other hand to his mouth. RK cried out, fearing meat or blood or… or....

He went slack, wide eyes fluttering shut as something amazing slipped along his tongue. What _was_ this?

Six let go of his chin, and he practically fell scrambling to catch her wrist before she could take whatever she’d pressed to his mouth away. She just laughed, that mean rough laugh that was the only one she ever made around him, and let him. No, gross. _What was he doing?_ But it tasted so good, so right.

RK licked along her palm, up the pads of her fingers. His tongue dipped between them, laving wet and desperate as he took two of her fingers in his lips. He felt possessed. Something was wrong, but RK needed this more than water or sun or air. Thinking was hard. Just doing wasn’t. He suckled and tongued for any last trace of the flavor, before moving on to another finger.

Her free hand carded through his dirty, tangled hair. It had been so long since he’d been touched in any way. Spoken to in person. Treated _like_ a person, as much as the others tried.

He wasn’t a person, though, was he? He was a monster. So was Six. His mouth moved down her palm, to her wrist, lips working along the pulse there for anything -- he need more -- he was so hungry --

When Six finally disengaged her now dripping fingers, RK followed like a needy pet. He might have even whined. He wasn’t sure. This didn’t feel like his body anymore. Six splayed her other hand over his face. RK instinctively nipped at it, too, only tasting the salt and oils of her skin, before she shoved him back.

He fell over easily, gasping for air, and barely responded as Six knelt down and began wiping her hand on his face, smearing spit all over his cheeks.

“Gross,” she said.

RK made barely any attempt to tidy himself, just licking morosely at his lips, eyes now distant. This was very, very wrong. He had trouble feeling bad about it though, right now, still caught up in a haze of satiation.

Six left before he could figure out his own brain or even begin to ask questions (demand answers -- he shouldn’t be so passive with her).

The good feeling faded, and shame quickly set in as his mind helpfully replayed every movement of what he’d done. He’d knelt before Six and lapped at her like a loyal dog, doing whatever sick thing she wanted. And he couldn’t even blame whatever she’d fed him for how he felt. He’d wanted her touch, too. A solid, real person willing to (safe to -- he wasn’t safe) reach out to him. That hadn’t been hunger. That had been pathetic.

RK curled up into as tight of a ball as he could manage, as though he could just hide away from what he’d done. He didn’t even know exactly what that was, not entirely. What had Six even fed him? It didn’t matter. She was here, and nothing she did to him would be as bad as what she could do to others. He had to get over himself and focus on others.

RK dragged himself to the table and opened all the channels across the Maw.

“It’s not safe --” he began, only to be cut off by the piercing cry of feedback. RK dropped the transmitter with a cry of his own, hands flying to his ears. It had never done that before.

He tried it once more, getting the same high-pitched whine, before counting it as a loss. But how else was he going to warn the others? Was this something Six had done, or just rotten luck?

RK looked to the door, still propped open. His chain couldn’t go that far.

“Somebod--” his voice hurt when he tried to raise it any higher than a murmur. Too long since he’d actually spoken aloud, except to scream himself hoarse on particularly bad days. “Anyone,” he called far more quietly. Silence. Normally good, because people shouldn’t be near his room. But just once it would be nice for someone to have broken the rules.

RK walked unsteadily over to the end of his chain, where it had been bolted into the floor. He’d spent ages drilling a hole through the metal, explaining to the Nomes how to screw on a wing nut on the other once he’d fed his chain through the bolt. It had worked surprisingly well for keeping him contained. Now it was an obstacle to keeping the others safe.

He searched around for anything to wedge into one of the links to pry it apart. His stick. It snapped immediately at the slightest bit of pressure. As it had been intended to. RK had wanted no way to escape. No temptation.

He clawed at the chain, working his fingers between the seams of a link, only for the nails to snap and blood to bloom.

“C’mon, _c’mon_ ,” he muttered, almost crying in frustration as his grip slipped again, as more pain danced on his fingertips.

Another sound, from the door. RK glared warily. A girl with blond braids stumbled through and fell to her hands and knees. Some blood spattered onto the ground from her nose.

RK bit his lip on the urge to lunge. He couldn’t reach her, anyway, before the chain ran out. And he needed her help. Focus on that. On getting the warning out.

“Hey,” he said quietly, trying to make himself as small and non-threatening as possible. He wanted to eat her so badly. He was a vile thing. “Hey, what’s going on out there?”

“The girl,” she gasped, then cut herself off and scrambled further into the room, well within RK’s reach, eyes locked on the door.

Six stepped in after her. Something dark and dripping, like a heavy fog, was in her hand, immediately stealing RK’s attention even over the food (the _girl_ ) so close.

“What _is_ that?”

Six pointed at the girl, who cowered away, already covered in scrapes and bruises on the skin he could see. RK tried not to stare too hard, or trace the bluish lines of veins up her arms, the movements of her throat as she swallowed. He tore his gaze away from her, and back to Six, who dragged her own tongue up the exposed bit of her arm where the swirling thing had dripped, like eating an overripe peach. The girl seemed fine, so it was something from another child? What though?

The Lady had been rumored to steal souls, RK realized. Was that what this was? Ripped from the living bodies of children and adults alike. Six could just… snatch it away, into this amorphous cloud to wave in front of his face? RK was salivating again. Why did he want that so badly?

The girl was crying very, very quietly, but in the silence between Six and RK it was the loudest thing here.

Six held out the little wisps of soul and moved closer. The door slammed closed behind her with a flick of darkness. RK scrambled back, but she was faster, shoving him down and straddling his stomach, fingers digging into his jaw to pry his mouth open. She was so much heavier than him.

“Six! No-- Six --” his words cut off as she jammed her fingers inside. RK choked and sputtered, fighting every instinct clawing to taste the soul, to swallow it down and finally, finally feed his hunger. To be free of it for just a moment.

He bucked and writhed, chain ratting with his frantic movements as Six jammed in deeper. He tore at her wrists, at her sleeves, until shadows caught his arms, and forced him down. RK heaved and spat, forcing as much of the soul out of his mouth as possible before he could taste it, but it was far too late. She’d gone too deep, and it settled inside a stomach that hadn’t eaten in years.

RK tried to beg Six to stop, to get off of him, even as his struggles weakened, as his own body betrayed him. Six was warm against him, leaning all her weight onto her hands. He whined around her fingers, without even the energy to bite them anymore. After forcing a bit more down into his now accepting throat, she dragged her fingers across his teeth, then sat back, hands splayed on RK’s chest as he gagged and swallowed.

Weakly, he slapped at Six. That was all he could do, and he stopped at the lightest slap back, hands falling to his face as though to block what he’d already done. He’d eaten. Even knowing what it was, he’d eaten. He hiccoughed behind his hands, eyes wet.

 _Don’t cry, don’t cry._ Six liked it when he cried, and he’d learned so long ago not to. Years. _Years_ he’d spent not giving into the hunger, to the isolation, to the tears. RK had fought everything, even himself, to make a safe place at any cost. Then Six had to swan in, and now his kids were probably dead, a girl was crying in terror in his room, and his sister was petting his hair, and he leaned into the touch because he was just so miserable.

When RK realized he was doing that, he yanked his head away, only for Six to follow. The tears slipped free, finally, chest stuttering as he fought and failed miserably to stifle them. Six curled over him, arms behind his head, pulling him unwillingly into a hug. He clung to her raincoat as he sobbed. How fucking pathetic. RK was looking to _Six_ for comfort. She smelled clean and warm, soft, dark hair tickling him where he had buried his face in her neck.

Six ruined everything. She was also the only one holding him and whispering gentle comforts he didn’t deserve. He didn’t understand. Why had she come back? Why was she licking his tears instead of making him cry more? What sick new game was this?

Disgustingly, he dared to hope if maybe it wasn’t a game. Maybe Six actually cared, in her own, damaged way. She’d fed him, held him. He was desperate enough that he could almost believe it. He’d locked himself away when he was ten. Six looked older than that, at least fifteen or sixteen. Practically an adult. Had so long passed? RK should look like that, but he felt small and fragile in her hug, starving himself for half a decade while she apparently fed with wanton abandon.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and RK tasted the closeness of her body, but with an absence of something that he craved. A soul. That was what he wanted, when he thought about blood rushing and hearts pounding, of scampering feet that made him want to hunt. It wasn’t the meat. It was the life inside. Six felt cold and dead, despite the warmth of her body against his. Did he feel the same to her? Was this what was wrong with him, why he hungered?

His crying weakened, but never quite subsided, and Six’s hand trailed down his side, leaving tingles of _touch_ in its wake. She pulled back, and suddenly there was a crack of something, ice shooting up his leg, then the manacle fell with a resounding clang.

Six climbed to her feet, leaving RK still sniffling, limp and useless. The door opened, then closed. A click of a lock.

RK sat up, head swirling. He wanted to shove his fingers down his throat and drag out the stuff Six had left inside, but his stomach didn’t hurt as badly as it had for so long. His limbs didn’t shake. He hadn’t felt so alive and aware since he was a child. The cost for that comfort sat heavy.

The girl with braids sniffled, a terrible reminder of what Six had done to him and so many others. RK could smell her blood before he spotted her jammed between the wall and an overturned desk. Normally out of reach, but Six had broken his manacle right off.

They stared at one another. RK was so tired. Of fighting. Of starving. Of failing. He just wanted to _help_ kids.

His stomach growled.


End file.
